Batman Rebooted: Boomerang
by MC David
Summary: An alternate universe new Batman origin and first adventure into the dark underbelly of Gotham City. Rated M for strong language.
1. Chill

**1**

The Gotham City Police Department 8th Precinct building was not a particularly pretty structure, crumbling and grey on the outside and dingy, poorly lit and largely unappealing on the inside. The building's unattractive aesthetic was nowhere more apparent than in Interrogation Room 1C, where one particularly despicable perpetrator sat in silence. The room's door swung open and two officers entered, the first one was a tall black man who walked briskly and did not look at the suspect, the other was a shorter, older white man who walked slowly, concisely and confidently who, in stark contrast with his partner made unbroken eye contact with the man handcuffed at the table.

The door shut and the short man approached the table with his taller partner following behind. The older officer observed the suspect who he noted as a white male, early thirties with bleach blonde hair, 5'9, maybe 170 pounds. As they reached the table, the man looked down. This agitated the shorter officer who leaned in and slammed both hands hard on the table, causing the suspect to jump in his seat and look at the officers.

"It's detectives Loeb and Allen and we both know already that you're a sack of shit." Barked Loeb. "Now that we're all acquainted, is there anything you want to say before we throw you in a cell?"

The man looked back down and simply croaked one word in a small almost ashamed voice. "No."

"Come on Chilton." Loeb egged on in a fake sort of encouragement. "Two dead, two orphaned kids and a long, long list of robberies involving a suspect matching your description and you've got jack shit to say?"

Chilton remained silent.

"Real chatterbox, huh?" Allen groaned. Loeb shrugged at Allen and turned back to Chilton.

"Not a peep? Nothing to say? You go through all that and you have no words?" Loeb jeered. "Pretty fuckin' lame to be brutally honest." Silence hung over the room following Loeb's statement.

"I don't think he's feeling cooperative." Allen stated with some frustration.

"Well, I figure we have what we need without his word anyway," started Loeb, "he can cozy up in a cell for the night." Less than a second after Loeb finished, Chilton spoke up.

"It wasn't always so bad, you know?"

"Oh ho, he speaks!" Loeb sarcastically exclaimed.

"I had a job, a place to live, three square meals a day and a car." Chilton stated in a small, defeated voice. "It wasn't much, but it was mine, you know?" Chilton's hands were trembling and he sounded like he was on the verge of tears. "Just a face you wouldn't notice workin' at the medical supply plant. Factory work was shit, but it was an honest way to make a livin' and I worked my ass off every day. So when my fat bastard of a supervisor calls me into the office I'm thinkin' about a raise or promotion or something." He paused and his frown became a grimace as tears rolled down his face. "But no. Laid off. Thrown out like the fuckin' trash and replaced with a fuckin' machine. Real wave of the future shit, no more Joe."

"Yeah, very sad, but I'm a detective, not your therapist so could you move this pity party along, please?" Loeb growled.

"Hey, I'm gettin' there!" Chilton defended. "So anyways it wasn't so bad for a while, I had some cash put away, I figured it'd take a couple weeks but I'd be back workin' in no time, good as gold. But no. Gotham's a dry well when you're like me, cause Joey Chilton apparently don't mean shit in this town, so I did what I could."

"And what exactly was that?" Queried Allen.

"Small time shit, pickin' pockets, stealing hubcaps, anything for an easy buck, anything for a meal or two. But then it got worse, you know? Then I needed to pay rent and that ain't so easy when all you're doin' is swipin' hubcaps so I stepped it up. Got myself a piece."

"An unregistered piece." Added Allen.

"Does it really matter now?" Chilton shot back. "So anyways I really started makin' cash then. I wasn't hurtin' nobody or nothin', just scarin' em', scarin' em' enough to have em' turn over their cash and valuables. Never fired the piece, it was more of a prop than anything, you know?" He paused again. "So there I was tonight, pullin' this same gag I done about five times before, without incident, might I add. I'm hidin' behind this dumpster in the alley by where the road ain't so busy and I'm waitin' for some sucker to walk by. When I hear him do I start yellin', you know? Like 'help, help! I need help!'" Chilton recalled. "So soon as the poor sucker gets behind the dumpster where no one can see I whip out the piece, take the money and scram, cept' tonight that don't happen."

"And why not, Chilton" Loeb angrily inquired.

"Cause this son of a bitch comes down the alley with his lady and I got the gun ready and I realize I know that bastard, I seen his face before. He's the guy in the framed picture in the break room at work, he's the one shakin' my jackass supervisor's hand in the picture on his desk, it's his lousy ass's fault I was pullin' that gag in the alley in the first place. It was his company I got the boot from."

"So what, you just wasted them both, huh?" Loeb questioned, brimming with anger. Chilton looked down again and with a small voice through a sickly sad chuckle he simply replied:

"You said it, pal, not me."

"Joseph Chilton," began Allen, as Loeb pulled Chilton out of his chair, "you're being charged with the murder of Thomas and Martha Wayne."

"Whatever." Chilton grumbled as Loeb pushed him towards the door.

"Didn't need a confession really," Loeb taunted, "but it was a nice story, I'm sure if their two newly orphaned sons were here to hear your story about why you just _had_ to kill their parents, they'd be real sympathetic."


	2. Home

**2**

Bruce Wayne was uncomfortably quiet the night of his parents' murder. Some ten year olds would scream, some would cry and wail uncontrollably in his position. Bruce Wayne cried in silence on a bench in the precinct as he waited for his caretaker to arrive. He had been cooperative, he identified his parent's assailant and recalled the evening's events, but he was most certainly restrained and very, _very_ quiet. Detective Allen approached the bench, Bruce was motionless, sitting up with his head down, obstructing the view of his face with the dark brown hair on his head. Allen sat next to him on the bench and put his arm around Bruce, who remained still with no hint of reaction.

"We got a confession." Allen plainly stated. "I know it doesn't fix everything, but he's gonna pay for what he did." With that, Bruce glanced at Allen and gave him a half-hearted nod.

"Thanks."

"You did a good job tonight, Bruce. You were a real help." Allen comforted.

"A real help would've saved them." Bruce coldly returned. This statement made Detective Allen very uncomfortable, his arm around Bruce tightened.

"Don't say that!" Allen exclaimed in a slightly hushed voice. "You couldn't have stopped it, it's not like it's your fault."

"I guess we'll never know that for sure." Bruce bluntly replied.

"You didn't do anything wrong, I promise." Allen reassured.

"It's still my fault." Bruce argued, without expression.

"Why would you ever think that?" Allen questioned in surprise.

"It's my stupid birthday. It was my stupid idea to go see a stupid movie and now they're gone!" Bruce broke fully into tears, wrapping both arms tightly around Detective Allen and burying his face into the man's torso. His muffled whimpers were slightly audible. Allen wrapped his free arm around the boy and stroked his back in an attempt to comfort him, but the crying did not subside.

_Orphaned on his goddamn birthday. _Allen thought. He couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sympathy for Bruce. Allen thought about his own family in Metropolis, how he would manage if he lost them. He couldn't imagine it.

"Master Bruce?" A decidedly British voice called out. Bruce cocked his head towards the sound a saw a man standing a few feet from the bench. A man in his early forties with slightly greying black hair, in a wrinkled three piece suit that appeared to have been put on in a rush. The man leaned slightly on his left side, which was supported by a black cane. Bruce immediately stood up and hurried to the man, who knelt down slightly to fully embrace the young boy. The man was clearly in a state of distress, looking both disheveled and shocked.

The two embraced for a long moment before the British man stood up and was greeted by Allen.

"Detective Crispus Allen." Allen introduced, extending his hand for a shake. The British man took Allen's hand and gave it a soft, unenthused shake.

"Alfred Pennyworth, we spoke on the phone." Alfred replied plainly, clearly attempting to maintain composure. "Are you going to need young Bruce for anything more, or can I get him home for the night? I imagine after what he's dealt with he could use some rest."

"He's good to go, Mr. Pennyworth." Allen replied. "We have everything we need."

"Right then, I suppose we'll be receiving some information on the trial, yes?" Alfred inquired, still shaken.

"Most definitely." Allen assured.

"Then, uh, we best be off." Alfred finished, putting his hand on Bruce's shoulder and guiding him towards the exit. The two left the precinct via the two glass doors facing the street. At around midnight the streets of Gotham had gone quiet as most well-meaning people went indoors after 10 PM. Gotham wasn't a safe place for most people after dark.

Bruce stayed close to Alfred as they strolled down the street to the parking garage in which Alfred's fully restored, jet black Aston Martin DB2 was parked. Bruce had always seen Alfred's car parked by the guest house where Alfred lived, he had always wanted to ride in it, but given the circumstances of that night, he found no excitement. If anything, Bruce found himself a little frightened as the two walked through the parking garage. Even ten year old Bruce knew that places like that were hotspots for muggings, rapes and shady business transactions in Gotham City and the night's events had left Bruce shaken. Something about Alfred kept Bruce from the worst of the anxiety though, Alfred always knew how to maintain a confident gait, even with his need for a cane. Alfred Pennyworth was never a man to trifle with. His medium build never seemed like much, but paired with an intimidating confidence and lack of fear it made him an imposing individual.

The garage was empty and they arrived at the car without incident.

The fifteen minute drive from downtown to Wayne Manor seemed like an eternity to both Bruce and Alfred. There was a certain uncomfortable silence that permeated the entire trip. Neither of the two could think of anything to say, Bruce sobbed quietly in the passenger seat, facing the window so Alfred couldn't see. Alfred had questions, so many questions about what had happened. None seemed appropriate or fair to ask the ten year old boy crying in his car. Mostly he just couldn't believe that Thomas and Martha were gone. His employers, yes, but also his friends.

It was truly the abruptness of the event that hit Alfred the hardest. All the great work they did, the charity and urban outreach and work in the field of medicine. The Waynes had done more for Gotham than any politician ever did and out of the blue, one gunman ended it all. No more Thomas, no more Martha. Alfred feared most for Bruce, who idolized his father more than anyone. To Bruce, Thomas Wayne was a hero, not just to him, but to all of Gotham. Bruce wasn't wrong to feel that way. Gotham was certain to lose much with the Thomas Wayne's demise.

After a drive that can be best described as simply uncomfortable, the car finally pulled to 1007 Mountain Drive, better known to most as Wayne Manor. The wrought iron gates dividing the fifty acre property from the rest of the Gotham countryside seemed excessive to some, but was arguably a necessary precaution, even so far from downtown Gotham City.

Alfred exited the car, punched in the security code on the gate's adjacent keypad and re-entered the vehicle just as the gate creaked open. The car pulled up the manor's seemingly endless driveway as the gate swung shut behind. From the gate the home appeared very distant, especially at that hour, but as the winded up the driveway, the stately Wayne Manor's beige, castle like features became considerably more prominent. The car reached a halt just in front of the steps to the manor's entrance. For a brief moment Bruce thought how mad his father would be if he saw Alfred parking anywhere other than his car's designated spot. The thought lasted only a brief moment.

The two exited the car and made their way to the front door. All the lights were on in the main entrance hall, the chandelier centered between the east and west wing staircases was almost blinding to Bruce who had been largely in the dim and dark since leaving the movie theatre hours before. Without saying a word to Alfred, he walked ahead of him, making his way to the east wing staircase to his room.

"Master Bruce." Alfred muttered in a small voice that nonetheless shattered the silence maintained for what seemed like a lifetime. Bruce stopped, but did not face his butler. "Did your brother happen to mention which of his friends he was staying with this evening? I haven't been able to contact him."

"No Alfred, I don't think he did." Bruce plainly replied, still without looking.

"Alright then." Uttered Alfred. Bruce continued making his way for the stairs and Alfred limped into the adjacent parlor to sit down in one of the armchairs. Alfred let out a sigh and ran his hands through his hair. He thought about having to break the news to Thomas Wayne Jr. whenever he got home. "That's not a conversation I'm looking forward to." Alfred groaned to himself. "I think I need a drink."


End file.
